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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092552">Call My Name, Behold The Strength Of My Embrace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmockussir/pseuds/youmockussir'>youmockussir</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coco the Wingman, Dancing, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Music, Singing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:21:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmockussir/pseuds/youmockussir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Coco could have just given the key to the ticketbooth clerk without hiding it in the tower, but, then, Julian may not have seen him. And he wants the janitor to be happy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian the Janitor/The Ticketbooth Clerk, Nunnally/Julian the Janitor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Call My Name, Behold The Strength Of My Embrace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Janitor likes routines. He likes knowing exactly when things are going to happen, and where they will happen, and who they will happen with. He likes following Coco the Nightwatchman around the tower, following the same winding path every night. He likes knowing the routine of the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air: the introduction, the act, the feature presentation; the way Mister Cameron would introduce the show, and end the show, using the same partial phrases like “And Now!” and “Julian, scram!” and “Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel tower!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so, when following Coco one night and seeing him place a key in a hidden location, he is disoriented by the change of routine. He doesn’t dislike change, it just- just throws him for a loop is all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obviously, like he does in any new situation, the Janitor watches from a distance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>says the Narrator. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You could just ask Coco about it. He is your friend.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” murmurs Julian from behind a tall curtain. “I’d rather just watch. It’s safer that way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Julian watches the young man--the ticket booth clerk, he realizes-- take the key from it’s secret hiding spot, he is enamored.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>he?” Julian asks under his breath. “How does Coco know him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The same way he knows you,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> says the Narrator.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “The Eiffel Tower is only so big, and he clearly works here.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> But Julian shushes him, so that he can hear what the boy is doing with that key.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It turns out that the key unlocks the apartment above Julian’s closet, the one that Mr. Eiffel would entertain guests in, that’s locked to the public. And he makes the most beautiful music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s incredible.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so, every night, like clockwork, Julian watches the boy. He follows closely, but not too close, as the boy takes the key from its hiding place and goes to the apartment. Sometimes, Julian will listen from his stove, in his closet. But others, other times when Julian feels brave or inspired or, or-- something </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- he will sit at the door of the apartment, just under the window, just barely unseen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until that one night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s been a long day for The Janitor. Wind’s Daughter is fast approaching, and there is much to be done. Somehow, by some absolute miracle, Julian manages to finish cleaning all the bird poop off of the observation deck. It could have taken hours, or days, even, and after he polished it sparkling, there were decorations to be strung, and banners to be made, and floors to be scrubbed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian has just discovered his ability to ‘work’ and ‘clean’, much to the delight of Mr. Chouinard, who now looks less like the verge of death, and, frankly--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m exhausted.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Janitor yawns. He’s very tired, but he desperately wants to listen to the wonderful piano music, and nothing will get in his way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You could just listen from your closet,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> advises the Narrator, but Julian won’t have it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to be close to the music.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You mean, you want to be close to the</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em> musician</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Julian blushes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, no! Shut up!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian curls up in his usual spot underneath the apartment door. Tonight’s melody is slow and calm like an almost-rainstorm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just resting them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until he isn’t only resting his eyes anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span># * # * # * # * # * # * # * # *# * # * # * #</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a boy standing over him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, hello?” says the boy, concerned. “Are you alright?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian’s eyes slam open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhhhh-” Julian scrambles away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, it’s okay! I just thought you were dead, or something. Are you alright?” the boy repeats.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh, I just, uh, I think I fell asleep,” Julilan avoids his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He must think you are stalking him!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” cries the Narrator. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, how embarrassing!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay, then,” says the boy, and the Janitor looks up in surprise. The most beautiful brown eyes look back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian realizes that he has never seen this boy up close. He has light brown skin, and loosely curly hair that reaches his slight shoulders. His lips are parted a little, and his eyebrows are curled just a bit towards the center of his forehead, like he’s recently finished a worrying thought, but has decided to move onto other things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing up here, this late at night?” asks the boy, before Julian can drown entirely in his chocolatey eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhhhhh,” says Julian eloquently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Say something! Anything!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m the Janitor,” says the Janitor. The Narrator bangs his head against a desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy’s eyes widen in recognition. “Oh! You’re the Janitor!” he repeats, a little dumbly. “The way Coco talks about you, you’d think you’re like, Mothman or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This just confuses Julian further. “Mothman?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, like a cryptid?” says the boy. “Like, you supposedly exist, but there are not any confirmed sightings, or anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian blushes even more. That was exactly the kind of impression he had hoped to avoid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m real, I think,” Julian says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, hi ‘real, I think,’ I’m the ticketbooth clerk,” says the boy, and Julian laughs like a high-ringing bell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” he says, smiling shyly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you never answered my question,” says the ticketbooth clerk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing, sleeping on my door?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this, Julian wants to sink down into the floor below, and just… keep sinking. Maybe forever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ilikeyourmusic” he mumbles quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian coughs. “I, uh, I like your music,” and looks down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy sits down next to him, and takes his hands in his. Julian almost jerks away, but doesn’t, somehow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you come on in and listen? It’s cold out here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian can’t argue with that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span># * # * # * # * # * # * # * # *# * # * # * #</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so, a new routine starts for the two of them. Julian doesn’t feel the need to hide from this boy, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect </span>
  </em>
  <span>young man. Sometimes, he gets to the apartment before the clerk does, sneaking in through the air ducts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you even get in here?” asks the boy, once, and Julian shrugs. He doesn’t ask again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian loves lying on top of the piano while he plays. It tickles, a little, and it feels like the music is joining his insides together in a big squishy pool of melody and feelings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, he sings along, little lyrical nibbles that he dreams up between evenings. When he does, the boy smiles, as bright as the summer sun, and Julian feels his heart melting. He vows to sing more often.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got something to show you,” says the Janitor one night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian holds a little box in his hands. It’s crumpled and well-loved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a tape recorder,” says Julian. “My father used to have these all over the place. I thought, maybe, we could record a song?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kicks some imaginary dust along the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The clerk takes his hand, something he’s been doing more and more often these days. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That is an amazing idea,” he says, drawing Julian in for a hug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This hug is everything Julian has ever wanted, and more. It’s soft, and firm, and like a warm wind wrapping about his waist. He feels one hand stroke between his shoulder blades, lightly, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>melts. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, this is certainly nice,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> smirks the Narrator.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The clerk squeezes him, even tighter, and pulls away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s put this bad boy to use!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span># * # * # * # * # * # * # * # *# * # * # * #</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please don’t go away</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span># * # * # * # * # * # * # * # *# * # * # * #</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Neat!” says the boy, clicking off the recorder. “Let’s listen to it!’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He presses play, and takes Julian by the hands, drawing him in close.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhhh, what are you doing?’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t listen to music without dancing!” says the clerk emphatically. “It’s like, what’s even the point, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, okay,” says Julian, and he smiles as the boy drapes his arms around his waist. In response, Juilan puts his arms over the boy’s shoulders, clasping them together behind his neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, here you are</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And you’re all you’ve wished to be</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re alive and you’re</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not alone…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?” murmurs the boy into Julian’s ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I kiss you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Julian answers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he doesn’t say anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy’s lips are soft, and they taste like cotton candy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love cotton candy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Julian thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I think I love this more.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy pulls back, and smiles. Julian smiles back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kiss him again, you fool!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>cries the Narrator, deeply invested.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian cards his fingers through the boy’s hair, and pulls him back in for another kiss, even more tender than the last.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span># * # * # * # * # * # * # * # *# * # * # * #</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Outside the apartment, Coco smiles. He could have just given the key to the ticketbooth clerk without hiding it in the tower, but, then, Julian may not have seen him.</span>
</p>
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